The hope of yesterday is the future of today
by bouj525
Summary: They will always meet again.


**"If you're brave enough to say goodbye, life will reward you with a new hello."**

 **All the thanks to infinii for proofreading this mess.**

* * *

 **The hope of yesterday is the future of today**

"You think our ways are harsh, but that's how we survive."

Lexa's words fill the air around them and Clarke lets them sink in. They fight, they suffer, they murder and never look back. They live by the saying "blood must have blood" and they respect it to the point of not caring for their enemies' pain. They sharpen their blade until it has the power to take a life. They sleep with the dead and dance with the living, but sometimes forget in which dimension their own soul belongs. They play the role of gods and forget that part of their soul is still sold to the devil. They are ruthless and selfish, but also respectful and fair-minded.

They move on too quickly from one loss to another.

That's how they survive. That's how they keep the nightmares out of their lives. That's how they get to wake up in the morning and go on with their days. That's how they preserve their history and beliefs. That's how they can still stand and walk on this planet without fearing for their freedom and security. That's how they can still make plans and count the minutes until the next event. That's how they still find beautiful things in this disastrous world. That's how they can still find the energy to smile. That's how they don't become empty shadows when the light goes out.

That's how they survive.

That's not how they live.

And Clarke knows this, notices the difference, and hears it in Lexa's voice that the young leader of the twelve clans is also painfully aware of this fundamental detail that rules everything they do.

In that moment, they are aware that they might never be allowed to simply live. This town, this village, this shelter is built on shaky ground and tests their abilities to survive. Days turn into nights when the blackness appears out of nowhere, and nights turn into days when sleep refuses to grace them with its presence. Their existence is made possible by a constant reminder that if they want their heartbeat to keep going, they have to steal one in return. This place is hostile and asks of them to constantly be mindful of every decision they make. It is not made for peace, not yet, perhaps not ever. It is not made for them to let their guard down.

It is made for them to know how to _survive_.

Clarke sees in Lexa's eyes that this is all she has ever known.

The newborn leader wishes she could offer something to the woman standing in front of her. Something to allow her to let her walls down, even just for a moment. Something to gift her with the feeling of not having to worry about what will happen in the next hour, in the next day, in the next year. Something to show her that there is another way to think, to process things, one that doesn't demand the price of her sanity in exchange, one that doesn't ask for anything in return.

Something to show her that she has a reason to die, a motivation to survive, but also a cause to live for.

Something to show her that surviving doesn't mean saying goodbye to living.

Something to show her that, even if they are born to be bathed in agony, they can still recover in the fountain of hope when it hurts too much.

"Maybe life should be about more than just surviving. Don't we deserve better than that?"

Don't they deserve to feel fully alive too, and not simply exist as two empty armors waiting for something to spark a light in their soul? Don't they deserve better than the fate they are tragically destined to?

"Maybe we do."

And maybe it comes in the form of the softest kiss Clarke has ever had.

And maybe it comes in the form of the most vulnerable action Lexa has ever taken.

For a while, she is not the Commander anymore.

Lexa Kom Trikru gets lost in the contact for a few seconds and decides, in this moment, that they do have something more than just surviving. They just cannot explore it yet. It is just out of their reach.

But the time will come.

Lexa is sure of it.

She sees herself in Clarke. A younger version of herself. And she wants to protect Clarke's love for life, Clarke's carefree smile, Clarke's laugh, Clarke's innocence, even if she knows it has been taken away already. She wants to offer her the knowledge that this place isn't as bad as it seems. She wants to show Clarke that the only thing she has to fear is the fog of indifference that is trying to replace her ability to care. She barely knows the stunning woman falling from space, but she already wants to explore everything that she is.

Clarke has become her favorite world to live in.

Clarke has brought hope with her the moment she landed.

The hope that, someday, being selfish will not be synonym of leaving her people behind. The hope that being intoxicated with happiness will not be an impossible dream anymore. The hope that her swords will no longer lead her actions. The hope that they will be able to allow themselves to care for each other the way they deserve to, the way they are meant to.

The hope that, someday, surviving will be nothing but a demon from the past that has been exorcised indefinitely.

As long as they have it, they will be sheltered from madness.

No matter what happens next, Lexa will keep this hope safe.

* * *

It is not a betrayal, Clarke tells herself.

It still feels like one.

It still feels like the Commander is leaving the Sky people behind without even trying to negotiate anything, even though they are so close to victory against the Mountain Men. It still feels like Lexa is leaving _her_ behind, despite everything they have been through, everything they have shared, every moment of joy and hope in this cloud of toxic pessimism; all is discarded within seconds.

It still feels like Lexa is tossing away everything as if it doesn't matter, as if it never mattered in the first place. It still feels like a knife stabbing at her heart, a missile wiping out her feelings, a fatal attack to her spirit. It is an arrow to the core of her trust, which, once wounded, never really recovers.

And the worst part is that she cannot even be mad, because she has no idea how she would have reacted in this situation. She cannot even be angry at Lexa because she knows the young leader, and she knows the tortured soul hidden behind this cold mask, just like she knows they both bear broken hearts now. She cannot let the frustration out because Lexa doesn't want to hurt her, but it is inevitable between them.

They keep moving back and forth between saving and destroying each other, and ultimately, they have no idea which side will win.

They are the same and yet, radical opposites, and maybe that is why they found each other, and maybe that is what will tear them apart.

They are the same, but tomorrow, they might discover their meeting simply occurred at the sole common point of their two perpendicular roads. Maybe tomorrow, they will inevitably drift apart, like meteorites gravitating around each other, never colliding, and going back their own way. Maybe they were meant to remind each other that miracles do exist, but only temporarily, only until they learn to walk on their own again.

They both have loneliness and tiredness as best companions, but Clarke has the support of her people whereas Lexa cannot count on anyone but herself. They both have known loss more intimately than any other emotion, but Clarke has turned her back to her past using her pens and colors, while Lexa has decided to adopt it as elements of her present life.

"I do care, Clarke, but I made this choice with my head and not my heart."

The blonde sees Lexa in a way no one else does. She sees the dilemma between head and heart, the confrontation of logic and rationality against emotions and nonsense. She hears the fragility behind the strong unshakable tone of the Commander. She notices the imperceptible way Lexa's eyes reveal the truth about her demons, her insecurities and her fears. She recognizes the truth.

Lexa is looking at her like she wants to say that they'll leave this night crushed and destroyed, but alive. That _they_ will be demolished, but at least, each of them will remain safe.

But the blonde doesn't believe that. She doesn't agree with Lexa. She won't leave this evening alive. She will leave this place bruised and battered, cut through every inch of her skin, bleeding from invisible wounds that hurt more than visible ones. She will leave with the feeling of being trapped inside that mountain herself. She will leave this place barely breathing, thinking of all the lost lives she made herself responsible for. She will crawl to a safe place that is no longer reachable. She will leave this place with the deep conviction that she has failed her people.

She will die, just like her people will, except her death will be excruciatingly slow.

A part of her died when Lexa announced the deal. A part of her died when she realized that, no matter what, Lexa's people come first. She is only now realizing the vicious meaning of it all. They must part ways and it feels like saying goodbye to what could have been.

She knows Lexa's first duty is to her people. She has nothing to offer to reassure her because nothing will ever be enough to erase the nature of their reality.

There is nothing that Lexa can say or do to relieve this suffocating pressure in her chest, tightening and constrictening around her as the grounders are being freed from Mount Weather.

She can see them tasting freedom while hers is being taken away.

It is not a betrayal, she tells herself.

It still feels like one.

She wonders if there was any hope for them at all.

* * *

The bullet hits before she even realizes what this flying silver object is. She doesn't feel anything at first, but then it comes, the pain, the warm sensation on her skin caused by the blood tainting her clothes with the color of the night, the rush of adrenaline trying to compensate, but failing miserably. The physical pain isn't the worse part. The alarms blaring into her mind are. They all direct her thoughts to Clarke, to the woman whose blue eyes hold nothing but fear and love in them.

Yesterday, they were in tears because they were saying goodbye and parting ways for an indefinite amount of time. Today, they are in tears because they never thought goodbye would ever come in this way, and they are not ready for it.

These inoffensive drops of salted water taste too much like poison for their peace of mind.

Lexa is trying too hard to breathe and fighting too little to live. She has accepted, many lifetimes ago, that she was fated to die at young age, but it doesn't mean she wants death to be quick, especially not when her muse is standing right next to her, pleading her to stay alive. But Lexa knows. She knows it is too late for her to be saved, like it has always been ever since she was born. She have also known, right from the beginning, that this miraculous bond between the two of them would be breaking too soon, that they would not have the time to fully share it.

She made the choice to feel, to forgive the past and the future, to love and, ultimately, to hurt and to be hurt.

She feels Clarke's hands pressing on her stomach and winces. She wishes she could tell the blonde that this is useless, that they must accept it, but she can tell by looking at the other woman that this is not an option. As long as she lives, Clarke will never forget this moment, never accept it, never forgive it, just like Lexa never allowed Costia's final day to leave her memory.

In the middle of this newborn pandemonium, Lexa suddenly manages to remember how to smile and offers one as a final present to Clarke.

"Thank you" is what she wants to say so badly, but her throat is drowning in a wave of dark hemoglobin Instead, she can only try to convey everything with her eyes, but she fears Clarke is too blinded by the situation to see anything past the tragedy.

Thank you for showing me blood must not always have blood.

Thank you for telling me you care for me.

Thank you for making me care for you.

Thank you for not letting this world transform you to someone you're not.

I'm sorry for leaving too soon, but death is not the end.

I am so grateful that I got to spend the night by your side, the previous days in your company, the previous months with you in my mind. Regardless of the mess of this world, of the endless amount of punches we receive, of the perpetual choice we must make between living and surviving, I am grateful that you exist, that I get to call you mine, even simply for a small eternity, that I get to be yours.

She wants to remind Clarke that this is not over, that she must learn to move on and focus on her responsibility as a leader, that she cannot let this define her life. She wants to remind Clarke that she must live rather than survive. She wants to thank Clarke for changing her life, her perception of things, her relation to the world. She wants to immortalize Clarke with her words, one last time, because this woman is special.

Instead, she uses what is left of her energy to order Titus to keep Clarke safe.

She hears Clarke's voice somewhere, but it sounds distant, too far for her to understand everything. Still, she can hear the way the tone is flirting with sadness and despair and vulnerability, the way the speed is too rushed, the way the words mean too much for her to be able to absorb them. She hears the silences between the sounds and the heaviness of them.

"May we meet again."

Lexa barely listens but she decodes the last few words.

She wants to reassure Clarke, but she is unable to, can only witness Clarke falling apart without being able to help, and perhaps this feels more painful than the hole in her stomach.

She prays her smile is enough for Clarke to be reminded of what happened between them, of the perfection of it all, of the magic of it all, of how they made the impossible happen.

She prays it is enough for Clarke to see beyond this sudden and unexpected turn of events, for her to realize that it doesn't matter if the other side is calling because what they have transcends everything else.

What they have surpasses the laws of physics and logic.

What they have doesn't require a body to exist or words to be expressed.

What they have doesn't survive; it lives, now and beyond.

She prays Clarke knows this isn't goodbye.

She prays it is enough for Clarke to be reminded that hope exists.

She loses sight of this world and her heart beats one last time as she witnesses hope leaving Clarke.

* * *

There is something strange, incomparable to anything else, that happens when two lovers find themselves separated by a distance that refused to be crossed. Suddenly, motion ceases to exist and everything freezes. Flashes of events travel before their eyes, but none of them seem important enough to be captured by their long-term memory.

Life isn't quite made for the living anymore. Death doesn't exclusively belong to the dead anymore. The act of existing doesn't quite mean the same anymore. Their identities are nothing but victims of a constant remodeling wave of turmoil.

Something feels inexplicably wrong, as if they were trapped in a similar yet completely opposite world from the one they have always known.

It feels like chaos.

A moment that doesn't belong in time.

A place that doesn't belong in space.

A feeling that doesn't belong in their soul.

An unwanted pause.

A bottomless void.

Until the clocks start again.

Until they meet again.

* * *

Her savior's appearance is sudden and unexpected, and yet, Clarke feels like she has always known their meeting was inevitable. As if, the moment she walked in the City of Light, the moment she became one with the flame, an unconscious part of her knew she would meet Lexa again. Still, she is surprised, relieved, to see the Commander by her side. Protecting her, like she has done since the beginning.

Her attackers perish under Lexa's blades as she dies a little under the scrutiny of those green eyes she has fallen for, too fast and too deep, and perhaps, at the wrong moment of their existence.

In another time, in another universe, maybe they could have been more than two ghosts walking past each other, more than a small parenthesis in the bigger story. Maybe they could have given themselves a permanent chance at happiness rather than playing Russian roulette with their hearts.

But maybe their reunion here is a sign for a better tomorrow.

The contact between their bodies lasts a few seconds and Clarke already misses Lexa's strong arms around her. She wishes they could trap themselves in a place out of reach from their suffocating responsibilities and burdens, but the thought of everyone struggling to survive outside of the City of Light brings her back to the main reason she is here. When they reach the dead end after following a little girl on a bicycle, she cannot help but see it as a metaphor for everything she has accomplished since she was sent on Earth.

When the crowd finds them, Clarke freezes. When Raven's hatch appears, the blonde still cannot move. Everything seems to have been pointless since Octavia first stepped on the ground. A simple quest for a place to call home has transformed to a survival challenge. All they have found upon their descent in this radioactive atmosphere is a drop of hope in an ocean of misery.

And then, there is Lexa.

Lexa, whose silhouette represents a sea of hope.

Lexa, whose presence brings Clarke the calm in the storm, the spark of fire in the coldest nights, the weapon she so badly needs when she is at her enemies' mercy, the white flag in the massacre.

Lexa, whose words reconstruct Clarke's damaged story, whose touch reminds her that human contact is more than backstabbing and betrayal, whose glances heal her weakened self.

Lexa, who teaches her that maybe life is more than just a succession of defeats against herself and others, that this existence may not simply be a pointless hallway to wander in while waiting for the next passage to reveal itself.

Lexa, who teaches her that being a leader is about sacrifice for the greater good.

Lexa, always there to rescue her, even if Clarke refuses to accept it.

Lexa, always there to remind her of the existence of love in a world sponsored by indifference and hate.

"Go. I'll hold them off."

Lexa, ready to be left behind so Clarke can move on to her next destination.

Clarke almost considers allowing herself to be selfish, just this time, so she can avoid another dreadful parting. Almost.

Almost is never enough.

Death has already come for the woman she has grown attached to, and the thought of it happening again tears her apart in a million pieces. She cannot say goodbye, not again, not for the rest of her existence. They have gone their own way too many times and it never gets easier, only harder, but she would rather have this than nothing at all.

They keep navigating back to each other, and yet they keep letting go of each other, like lost entities condemned to repeat the same mistake again and again until they are forced to realize that they need each other more than their people need them.

They have to stop this restless choreography if they want to save what is left of them, but Clarke is unable to.

She will say "farewell" a thousand times if it means she will live through a thousand and one "hello".

She cannot stop. She cannot stop her feelings, her thoughts, her actions. She cannot stop caring and loving and hearing only Lexa's soft voice when everyone is yelling at her. She cannot stop the tears that threaten to fall from her eyes, the pain that is about to take her heart hostage, the need to crumble on the floor and not move and beg that this is just a nightmare about to end. She cannot stop the joy from appearing in her eyes, the feeling of pure bliss that makes her heart beat faster, the need to proclaim her love to everyone and everything within miles.

She cannot stop herself from wanting to learn more and more and more about Lexa, because she needs to know everything. She craves the knowledge of this person, the memories that have yet to be created and remembered by her brain. She needs more to memorize so she can have more to love. She needs to bury herself into Lexa's world, the only place where she feels like she truly belongs.

She cannot deny her role either.

She cannot resist the urge to say the words.

"No, Lexa! I love you."

She loves her and, yet, she is leaving her, over and over again, as if their song is nothing but a broken record that cannot be fixed, no matter how many times they try. She loves her and Lexa cannot even imagine just how much. She loves her the way the mountains admire the sky so much that their only purpose is to try and reach it. She loves her the way the oceans look up to the moon so much that they only move accordingly to her orders. She loves her the way clouds are attracted by the wind so much that they follow its lead no matter where it is headed to.

She loves her and Lexa is staring at her with too many apologies, too much happiness, too much sorrow in her eyes. She loves her and it hurts more than any other feeling she has experienced in her entire life. She loves the team of leaders they make. She loves the warriors and protectors they can be. She loves the artist and the philosopher. She loves the two young women discovering each other's body. She loves the vulnerable duo pretending to be unbreakable.

She loves her and she is only saying this now, and it is too soon and too late at the same time.

She loves her and she must leave her.

Again.

"I will always be with you."

Clarke wishes she could ask for a different storyline between them, that she could paint them another portrait of their lives, that she could draw another future for them, but she can only listen to those words and pray that they are real, that this isn't some kind of empty promise pronounced in the rush of the situation and in the fear of the unknown.

She believes Lexa more than the rest of the world, but she still wishes their meetings were not only in moments marked by eternal conflicts.

Lexa will always be with her.

It wasn't a simple sentence; it was a promise.

Her hope that they will meet again stands tall against adversity.

* * *

"I love you."

Lexa wants to say it back, but the words stay in her throat. She cannot whisper them back, not in this situation, not when time is running out, not when they have to let go of each other, once again. She knows Clarke knows. She knows if she says those words, nothing will change the situation. She will still have to remain here and Clarke will still need to leave. They both will need to look away in opposite directions sooner rather than later.

Clarke knows, regardless of the situation, that saying the words out loud will just add more to the weight of the separation.

Clarke doesn't need to hear those words. No, she needs something else. She needs to know Lexa will not leave her alone. She needs that safety, that Lexa will not be gone once the hatch closes, once their eyes focus on something else. She needs that moment to be reminded of everything they could have been, everything they were. Everything they are.

"I will always be with you."

The door starts closing as the Commander races towards the crowd, weapons in hands and heart beating so hard that she almost believes she is alive again. Death is not the end, she remembers, but she also knows it is not a continuation either. She hears the door shutting behind her as her blades make contact with her first victim. It sounds like the alarm alerting the beginning of genocide.

The confession echoes a long time within her soul after Clarke disappears from her sight. The words keep ringing in her head like the loudest sound existing in this reality as she stabs her enemies, pierces their heart with her swords, steals their last breath without even glancing at them more than a second. She takes a blow to her side and flinches, not because of the pain, but because of her distracted mind, always going back to the three words that have slipped past her armor like it never existed at all. She almost doesn't strike back.

She has been trained all her life to attack without hesitation, to make the final decision, to take away someone's free will and mark the end of their lives. She has learned to live by the bloodstained words of her people. She has made laws and coalitions, and made entire cities surrender to her. She knows everything and everyone, every place and every moment in time. She knows how to make the best out of any situation, how to ensure that her world remains safe when the whole universe comes crashing down to ashes.

She has created time when there wasn't any.

She has hunted injustice and refused to accept it to satisfy her own needs.

She has never been taught how to face the deafening pain she heard in Clarke's voice, the broken tone, the tears about to escape from those ocean eyes, and the vulnerable resignation that this is the end. She has been prepared to fight amongst chaos and blood and screams of torture. She completely ignores how to face the quiet plead, the shattered hope, the stolen secret that now possesses her entire being.

She blindly lets her swords taste the divine red liquid, focusing solely on the fact that she is protecting Clarke, that this is the reason they found each other again in the City of Light. She feels the resistance of the flesh as she slices through it. She is not sure how long the fight lasts, how many people she kills despite knowing they will still live on, how many liters of blood have escaped their owner's body, how many souls she scars forever. She is not sure how many more kill marks now tattoo her own soul, but she can feel each of them burning her conscience.

Every time she claims someone's life, they ask for a piece of hers in return. Every time, she thinks she has enough left to give back. Every time, she is painfully reminded that she doesn't, that she is giving more than she is taking, that the victim is not only the person in front of her. She can only hope that someday she will remember she has nothing left to give before it is too late.

She will give all of her to save Clarke.

She stays still, silent, in the middle of the battleground, fallen bodies around her. No movement at all. She is frozen in space and time, and refuses to turn around and look at the path Clarke took. Because if she did, she would be reminded of everything she is leaving behind. She would be reminded that, this time, death has a cost she is not ready to pay. She would be reminded that, on the other side of this place, where everything is regulated by false laws and illusionary clocks, there is a real world, where Clarke lives. Clarke is over there, and she is not.

She cannot exist in this alternative world anymore.

She has lived a thousand lives, survived countless wars and succumbed to hundreds of attacks.

She cannot win against this crushing pressure on her chest that is making her entire body vibrate as the ache travels through every inch of her nerves. She cannot win against the void left in her heart by Clarke's departure. She cannot win against the suffocating feeling threatening to strangle her alive. She cannot win against the regrets of saying too much and too little, of untold stories and of missed opportunities. She cannot win against the torturous feeling that this is over too soon, that they could have had a better chance.

She has always thought that when the time comes, she would know how to die, how to watch the previous days fade away, how to say goodbye. She would know because she always thought there was nothing she would miss. There was nothing she would leave behind. There was no one to truly say goodbye to. No one that would be left heartbroken at her final moments. It has always been the same.

And though she has loved and lost, lived and died many times, this one feels different.

She cannot win against the fact that she is not ready to die anymore.

Because she has found out what it feels to live rather than survive, and now, she ignores how to go back to what she had.

Living feels incredibly better than surviving.

She doesn't know how to let go of Clarke, of everything they shared. She doesn't know how to let go of those feelings, of everything that makes her feel so damn real when she is already gone. She had always thought dying was easy, but she realizes now that it is the hardest thing she has ever done, that she is blessed to only be realizing it now. It is impossibly hard.

Dying means leaving Clarke behind, not knowing anymore whether or not she is safe. Dying means not being able to do anything if Clarke is not safe, not being able to protect her, to touch her, to see her, to hear her voice, to smell her scent, to live with her.

Dying means leaving Clarke unprotected against herself, the greatest threat she will ever have to go through.

Dying means she cannot love Clarke the way she is meant to do.

It hurts. She is reminded of everything that makes her vulnerable and human, and beautifully imperfect, by her capacity to feel and care.

She takes a deep quiet breath. Death is not the end. It has never been and it will never be, even if this situation is different.

Dying only means she has to wait until she can love Clarke the way she is meant to do.

She realizes it doesn't matter anymore if she ignores how to let go of Clarke because she refuses to do so. She refuses to let the woman who has changed her life in the best possible way be forgotten, erased from her memory. She refuses to give in to the cruelty of their situation, the sadness that is trying to knock her out, the scenario she was born to follow. She doesn't want to say goodbye. And even though it feels like she will never get back a piece of her heart, she knows, intrinsically, that she doesn't want it back anyway.

She knows it is safe.

She knows this isn't goodbye.

She is powerless against a lot of things, but she can win the most important fight, the only one that matters. The fight for who she is, what she feels, her core identity and everything that made her this way, including the girl who fell from space and brought with her the stars to light up the darkness.

Her feelings for Clarke are safe.

Her hope that they will meet again is safe.


End file.
